


It Takes a Thief

by Azereaux



Category: South Park
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-05-07 06:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14665188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azereaux/pseuds/Azereaux
Summary: A petty theft gone wrong leaves Craig obligated to complete a near-suicide mission for the Great Wizard Cartman -- steal the most important thing from the barbarians, and come back with the prize.But what the hell is he looking for in the first place?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fantasy AU, but doesn't follow the Stick of Truth or anything. Just their classes as thief, wizard, etc.
> 
> Rating may change, heh, depending on how I feel the more I write lol. Because this story is just some silly fun with a plot, nothing super serious.

 

A sweet roll.

Honestly it was just a sweet roll. And really, it wasn’t even that good. There was too much icing on top, sticky and messy, and without a proper cloth to clean up Craig had to wipe his fingers on his shirt. So when the wizard confronted him about stealing his food, no amount of lying could cover the sugar trail leading down his front. What else could that white stain be – that is, unless he had been on his knees about a minute earlier. Which he hadn’t been. And he wasn’t in _that_ desperate of a situation he was going to use that as an excuse.

Craig kind of wished he had now.

Craig has heard tales of priceless artifacts and treasures stowed away where wizards lived but this wizard sucked. Half-assed experiments and half-finished potions, books filled with unfinished instructions and materials lists covered with food stains on its pages. Well, since he took the trouble to break into here he might as well take _something_. If Craig said he stole stuff from a wizard he could probably sell it to some idiot under the pretense of it being imbued with magic.

He had almost been able to sneak out of the wizard’s villa with a good sack full of – truthfully – useless looking knickknacks. Then he got hungry and saw a table with a feast fit for a king, took a sweet roll sitting on the edge of the table, and was almost out the window until he blinked and found himself staring at the metal bars of a basement cage with a pissed off wizard yelling at his face from the other side. He’s been trying to sweet talk his way out, but he’s no good at that considering he’s still here, and now he’s just irritated.

“This is a bit excessive, don’t you think?” Craig said, rattling the bars.

“Shut up, you goddamn thief.”

“It was just a pastry.” Honestly, he didn’t think it was going to be missed this badly. “Let’s do this reasonably. I’ll pay you the amount that I owe for eating it then you let me out and we go our separate ways.”

“Like I can trust you,” the wizard spat. “You aren’t accounting for all my other stuff I found in your bag.”

“Oh, that shit? It’s worthless.” Craig was already in the wizard’s cage, what else had he got to lose?

“It’s not worthless, this stuff is _priceless_.” He holds out a stuffed frog, almost pushing its face into the metal bars.

“Priceless because no one would want to put a coin amount on it. And you got your worthless crap back so I don’t see why I have to pay for it.”

“You can't feel its magic because you're a _lying, thieving_ _rat_!” He puts the stuffed frog under his robe before clapping his hands together and drawing them apart to reveal a portal showing the face of a blond man. “Butters, where the fuck are you?”

“O-oh, hello your greatness.” Butters sounds surprised but he recovers quickly to smile. “I’m just doing border patrol around the area.”

“Yeah, well you fucking suck at your job. So get back here and take care of the prisoner.”

The smile on Butters’ face drops.

“A prisoner? When did that happen?”

“While you were sucking at your one job, now get back here.” The wizard claps his hands together again and the portal closes with a small spark. He turns to Craig. “You’re gonna stay in this cage until I figure out what to do with you.”

The wizard walks toward the stairs leading out of the basement. Craig scoffs.

“Why don’t you magic your way out if the stairs are giving you too much trouble?”

A breathless response follows. “Fuck you, asshole.”

Then the door slams shut and rattles in its place.

 

 

“He’s not such a bad guy, Cartman just got a temper. He lets me stay here and sleep on the sofa in the waiting room. I mean, I got my own bedroom, but he needs it right now for some of his experiments. Says he needs all the room he can get to store the ingredients.”

“And you actually believe him?”

“Course I do! I’ve seen it myself. Though lots of it seems to be food.”

“Uh huh.”

“I mean, I’ve never seen cheese wedges used in a potion before.”

“Uh huh.”

“Maybe it’s one of those crazy experiment type of potions. It’s secret though so I can only guess. He can’t tell me.”

Craig is lying down on the thin cot in the cage. He managed to convince Butters to bring him down a few blankets for a makeshift bed. He can’t make out if it’s night or day, there aren’t any windows or measurements of time here. His eyes have gotten use to the dim light provided by a small lamp near the corner of the room though there isn’t much to see; the walls are made of stone, the bars of his cage are a rusted metal, and his guard Butters is probably the most interesting thing in the room even if he is annoying. Where did the wizard even get this guy? A discount store? He looks like he can’t even use the sword at his hip. Too friendly of a guy and too talkative, it’s driving Craig mad being stuck alone with him.

He wants out.

“Hey,” Craig says as he leans up from the cot, “you think it’s about time to let me out now?”

“I can’t do that,” Butters replies. “His Greatness Cartman would get awful sore if he found out I let a prisoner go without his consent.”

“What if I told you he said I could go?” Craig says. “In fact, he’s telling me right now.”

“How can you tell?”

Craig taps two fingers against his temple. “Telepathy.”

Butters furrows his eyebrows.

“He never said anything about having telepathy before.”

“It’s true,” Craig says. “Your room? That’s why he needed the space to work on that super secret magic thing.”

Suddenly Butters’ eyes alight.

“Really? You mean it?”

“I sure do,” Craig says. “He needs me out of here now.”

“Oh boy! That’s amazi– wait a second. Why did he call you a prisoner?”

“The potion caused, uh, a small bout of madness as a side effect. It’s incomplete.”

“Oh biscuits, then I-I’ll go get the key!”

Butters runs away up the stairs. That was easier than he could have imagined. Craig pulls out the dagger hidden on the back of his belt and puts it up his sleeve. When Butters brings back the key and opens the cage he can kill him and make his escape. It’s only minutes later when the basement door opens again and Butters’ smiling face greets him. Craig positions the dagger hilt into his hand and shifts his arm underneath his cloak. He walks toward the cage until his chest is nearly flush against the bars and he can smell the rust on the iron.

“Did you get the key?”

“I sure did,” Butters says. He brings his hand up and twirls the key ring on his finger.

“That’s great,” Craig says. “Now let me out of here.”

“Sure thing.” Butters brings the key toward the lock but then he stalls. “First, I just wanna apologize for treating you like a real prisoner. We don’t get many visitors up to these parts so you can imagine I’m pretty wary.”

“It’s no problem at all.”

Butters brings the key toward the lock and he stalls again.

“And if you want you can come by anytime.”

“Alright, thanks.”

“We can have a sleep over and guard the villa together over spooky stories.”

“Could you _please_ just put the key in the lock?”

“Oh yeah! Silly me.” Butters stalls again. “Also, I told Cartman about the misunderstanding.”

“Yeah thanks for tha– wait, what did you tell him?” He almost drops his dagger.

“I felt awful so I told him I was sorry for treating a friend like a prisoner.” The basement door opens. Butters smiles. “You hear that? He’s comin’ down now to apologize.”

Craig can hear the wizard's heavy footfall down the wooden steps and the drag of his robe across the ground when he reaches the basement floor. As he draws closer to the light Craig can see the long sleeves of Cartman’s burgundy robe flutter in the air when he brings his hands behind his back with a flourish. He draws close to the cage but just out of arm’s reach and smiles.

“Hello, my so-called friend.”

“Get me out of here, fat ass.”

“I’m not fuckin’ fat,” Cartman yells suddenly. “If you wanna get out of here you give me some respect. Butters, give me the key.”

“Y-yes, Your Greatness.” Butters fumbles with the key ring before holding it out to Cartman.

“Leave us to talk,” he says. While Butters runs up the stairs Cartman holds the keys in front of his face. “This is what you’re after?”

“I want my freedom.”

“Or you’ll what? Stab me with your dagger? I see it in your hand, under your cloak.” He throws the keys between the iron bars and it lands with a thud. “But you don’t need to. You can have your freedom.”

Craig walks over to his cot where the keys have landed. He kneels down, reaches out but stalls before he can even touch them. He looks back to Cartman, just beyond the cage, the lamp casting a glow along the wall and the back of his robe but failing to illuminate his face. Even in the dimness Craig can see his blank expression. The wizard just stares down at Craig beside the keys, not betraying a single emotion or thought.

“Why are you giving me my freedom?”

“Because I am benevolent.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Craig snatches the key from the cot and walks toward the bars. “What do you want?”

Cartman smiles.

“A sharp one, are you? Yes, there is something I want and I think you can do it for me.”

“You’ve given me the key now, what makes you think I’m willing to help you?”

“Because you have no choice. Whether you want to or not is another matter that is of no concern to me.” Cartman begins to inspect his fingernails. “You’re going to steal something.”

“Are you gonna pay me?”

“I already have, look at your hand. I’ve given you the freedom you’ve sought.”

Craig narrows his eyes.

“And what if I don’t come back?”

“Of course you will. I always get what I want.” He looks up from inspecting his fingernails and straight into Craig’s eyes. “How do you think I acquired this villa?”

Craig feels a cold run through him. He doesn’t think it’s the wizard’s powers.

Cartman steps to the side, allowing Craig to open the prison gate and walk out from behind the bars. He briefly considers pulling his dagger from under and out to attack, but he stops when he notices Cartman’s eyes fixed upon his sleeve where the dagger is still hidden. Instead he places it back in the sheath at the back of his belt and draws his hand into view slowly.

“Wise decision. Now tell me your name.”

“Feldspar,” he says. It’s the name he give to people he doesn’t know.

When Craig speaks the spelling of the name appears like little wisps of smoke that Cartman snatches out of the air and into his palm, and then it begins to sink under his skin until the name disappears. Once, twice Cartman pulls his hand toward himself. Craig feels a small tug like a hand on his back and he stumbles forward when his feet take a few steps in the direction Cartman pulls.

“Alright Feldspar, now you are contractually bound to me.”

“What do you want?”

“You’re going to steal from the barbarians.”

Craig’s eyes widen.

“From the barbarians?” He shakes his head. “No way – I’m not chasing them. I wouldn’t even know where to find those nomadic assholes.”

“You think if _I_ knew I’d be sending some half-rate thief like you after them?”

Craig frowns. “Call me whatever you want but finding those guys could take months. Besides, I don't wanna risk my life chasing some band of messed up, shoot-first-ask-later dick bags. I mean, have you ever heard the–”

“ –story of the extermination of Stark Village? Where the barbarians made a bonfire of the homes for a three days cannibalistic roast, eating the children first so the parents could watch? Yes, I'm familiar with that one.” Cartman is lost in thought, gazing at the floor before he looks up at Craig. “Alright then, I'll make you a second offer for going on such a dangerous mission. Thieves like gold right? I have a surplus to provide you if you deliver to me what I seek.”

“Bullshit, you only have junk.”

“Oh really?” Cartman reaches deep into a pocket on his robe and pulls out a burlap sack. He tosses it toward Craig. “There's enough in there to keep a man happy for two months without needing to work.”

It's heavy when Craig catches it in his hands but the jingle it makes when it lands is unmistakable. When he unties the drawstring to looks inside glinting at him is a sack full of gold coins. He pulls one out and sees it shining, and knows it's real. He's learn what a gold illusion looks like from a friend; it doesn't have a slight orange sheen to its middle when exposed to the lamp light, like an lowly burning ember trapped inside the coin. There's a lump in Craig's throat. He can't believe he's asking this.

“And you have more?”

“More than enough to spare, my friend. Of course, when you complete your task.” Cartman turns away to stroll toward the lamp. He holds the hand out in front of his face, the one that the name Feldspar disappeared under and into his skin. “Will you steal from the barbarians?”


	2. Chapter 2

Craig pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply.

“I give you two days to find new information and that’s what you give me? Information I already know?”

“I swear that’s all I’ve found out. I’ve talked to both officials and vagrants but everyone has the same story. The barbarians camped outside of the town limits and continued to head west.” This short mess of a man, bony and wide-eyed, begins to wring his hands together. “Can I get my payment now?”

Exasperated, Craig reaches into the burlap pouch and takes out a piece of silver. He doesn’t want to spend any more time in the presence of this man, his nervous disposition is starting to annoy him.

When the coin come into view the man reaches out his hands like a beggar, cupped and outstretched toward Craig. But Craig draws his hand back to his chest, clutching the coin, and stares into the man’s confused eyes.

“Swear to me, you’re not holding any information back?”

“I swear to you, good sir, I’m not hiding anything.”

“ _Anything_?”

“I don’t have a single reason to protect the barbarians, not on my mother or my father’s side.”

Craig drops the coin into the man’s waiting palm and just like that he quickly runs out of the alley, without a goodbye, most likely toward the inn on the opposite side of town.

Craig sighs. He too should probably be getting back to the inn now that the sun is beginning to dip low. It’s painting the bottom of the clouds in orange and the sky is slowly fading from blue to ink. The shadows on the ground are growing long. The merchants are starting to put their goods away and the torches are beginning to be lit. He adjusts his cloak around his shoulders and kicks a twig from his path as he steps out the alley.

That’s the last time he puts his trust into a local. He’ll do the investigating himself starting tomorrow.

He begins his walk back to the inn. The way isn’t long but Craig is taking his time to contemplate another day of disappointment. He pats the pouch at his side. There is about half the gold the wizard had given him left, and he’s starting to feel nervous if this quest takes him any longer than two months. This is taking longer than expected. It’s already been one month and all he’s done is chase rumors. There is at least one consistency in that he keeps going west – at least he isn’t going in circles. He pats the pouch at his side again. He can probably extend the gold for another month, maybe two, if he is frugal.

Craig is taking the path that leads between the traveling merchants and their wagons. Here, they are lined up along the path like rows of carefully planted trees. Some merchants continue to sell goods until the very last rays of sunlight have gone and they’re calling out to him to look at their stock of sweets, clothes, items needed for a lone adventurer. He ignores them all despite the temptation to look, and maybe buy a candy or two, as Craig reminds himself the gold in his pouch will eventually end if he doesn’t find the barbarians soon. If he wanted Craig could always just take from one of the sellers but he has learned his lesson and is above petty theft, at least for the time being. He doesn’t want to accidentally enter into a second contract when the memory of the wizard is still raw in his mind.

However despite his willful ignorance of the merchants’ calls, Craig’s ear can’t help but tune-in on one of them whose voice cuts through the shouts. It’s different that it’s not calling out to him to buy anything, and the conversation is anything but appropriate. In fact it’s making him cringe a little inside.

“I got this sword going through a cave. It was super dangerous.”

“Wow, you’re _so_ brave!”

“I don’t mean to brag but yeah I am. You need to have pretty big balls to go there alone. Which I do, by the way.”

Craig scoffs. What a terrible pick-up line. He turns his head to the direction of the conversation. Craig can see the woman’s hand rubbing across the top of the man’s thigh to nearly in between his legs. He notices her hand feeling out for the coins in his pocket. Unbelievable. He’s letting himself get played like an idiot. What kind of guy lets himself be led on like that, it reminds him of –

“Clyde?”

The dreamy smile Clyde had on his face while talking to the woman drops. He looks around confused at the sound of his name.

“Who’s asking?”

“I am.”

Clyde stops searching when he notices Craig’s figure standing a few metres away from his wagon, and squints at him in the dimming sunlight.

“Craig,” he says and pushes his helmet up further from his eyes, “is that you?”

“What, you don’t recognize me anymore?”

Clyde breaks out into a smile.

“Holy shit it really is you!”

“Clyde, honey, who is that?”

She’s glaring at him from interrupting the conversation but Craig just rolls his eyes. He doesn’t care that she’s angry – in fact, he feels pretty good about saving his best friend from the claws of a money-grabbing harpy.

“This is my best friend.” He points to Craig. “I haven’t seen him in months.”

“Oh.”

Oh – just an _oh_. Not even a hello. Craig wants to roll his eyes again.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you.” Clyde slips her a piece of paper. “This is where I’m staying tonight if you want to keep in touch.”

“If I come over tonight, you’ll show me around town tomorrow?”

“Of course I will.”

Well. Maybe Craig saved his best friend from the claws of a money-grabbing harpy just for now.

Her enthusiasm back, she jumps off the wagon and blows Clyde a kiss.

“I’ll see you later tonight, handsome.”

Clyde’s dreamy smile is back on his face as he waves goodbye to her. Craig has his eyebrow raised as he notices Clyde’s eyes following the woman saunter away, focused on her backside until she rounds the corner past the wooden fence and into the heart of the town square. Craig clears his throat to get his friend’s attention back.

“Really?”

“What?” Clyde says when he turns his attention back to Craig. “She’s really cute.”

“Will she still be cute when she takes the last of your coin?”

“No way that’ll happen, I’m rich.” He stretches his arms out. “Have you seen this? Ever since I decided to sell the extra stuff I got from exploring I’ve been doing nothing but making profit and meeting honeys.”

“That’s nice,” Craig replies, “ever since I decided to travel I’ve been doing nothing but lose money and meet useless idiots.”

Clyde jumps off his wagon and pulls out his tarp and rope. He begins to wrap up his extra items as the guards begin to pass the merchants for their evening patrol.

“What are you doing so far out this side anyway?” Clyde asks. He grunts from pushing his wrapped goods inside of his wagon. “I never expected to see you around here.”

“It’s… kind of a long story.” He kicks a pebble by his shoe. “To make it short, I got caught.”

“Oh, so you’re still in _that_ business huh?” Clyde pulls out another tarp and begins to wrap more of his goods. “What did I tell you man, you’re gonna get caught eventually.”

“I can handle being thrown into a cage. But this wizard used his weird magic and now I’m bound to go on a hunt for the barbarians.”

“You’re chasing the barbarians?” Clyde holds this bundle over his head; this one was much lighter so he manages to throw it into the back of his wagon. “Why does he want you to do that? That’s practically suicide.”

“Hell if I know, I just need to take the most valuable thing from them. Whatever that is.”

“He didn’t say?”

“He doesn’t know shit.” Craig reaches into one of the pouches on his belt. He pulls out a small wooden box and holds it up. “This is what he gave me. There’s a piece of paper inside.”

Clyde pulls out another tarp.

“I’m almost finished here, let’s head to the inn? I wanna see what the wizard gave you.”

Craig stays near Clyde as he packs up. He pulls the front of his hood further down so that it covers half his eyes, and watches the guards as they walk past them. It’s habit, really. Though the guards here don’t recognize him being wary has become ingrained into his core. This is the farthest west he has ever been and there is probably no one except Clyde who knows him in this town.

With a final grunt, Clyde pushes everything he packed up further into his wagon so that it’s not sticking out from the back.

“Alright I’m done,” Clyde says when he closes the door and shuts the lock. “The guards will take care of the rest. Let’s go.”

The sky is dark now with only the light of stars and the moon. Torches in little posts along the main roads keep it well lit enough that they can see where they’re heading toward the inn, which itself is glowing from the inside through the windows like a beacon of warmth and comfort.

The walk is silent on Craig’s request. They’ll do all the talking there where it’s too loud for them to be overheard and where there are no guards on patrol to stop them. Craig guesses being a thief is now ingrained into his core too, they can feel it off him, the guards they pass on their way eye him suspiciously but do nothing about it when they see him alongside one of the merchants from the path. That’s an advantage for him, Craig thinks, no one expects a thief and a merchant to be best friends.

When they enter the inn it’s almost full of patrons and absolutely bustling. The sounds of cups clinking and chatter fills the air. It’s not the place Craig likes to be, he usually prefers somewhere less busy and much quieter, but Clyde loves these environments. He puts up with them for him. He at least manages to find a few empty seats near the back. There’s only one other man within earshot when they sit down but he’s passed out drunk in his seat, drink half-finished and still in his hand, unaware of his surroundings.

“Want one?” Clyde motions with his thumb to the tankard in the man’s hand.

Craig declines the offer.

“Money might get tight if I keep spending.”

“Don’t worry, today was good. It’s on me.”

The barmaid comes over and puts two tankards down in front of them when Clyde calls her over. They take a swig of ale before Clyde rubs his hands together.

“Alright, let’s make this quick so I can get back to my room. What did the wizard give you?”

Craig reaches into his pouch again and pulls out the wooden box. It’s roughly the size of a ring box, polished, and it’s lightly splintered on its top. He opens it up and pulls out a piece of paper that he flattens against the table with his fingers. There’s a few messy lines written down.

“That asshole said he found this looking around his villa.”

“What does it say? That writing looks like crap.”

“It took me a while to figure it out too but it says something about bean cultivation. I honestly have no idea.”

Clyde looks confused.

“How is growing beans related to the barbarians?”

“He’s convinced it does. Something about a second half of the entry he lost.”

“So… beans are the most important thing to the barbarians?”

Craig shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

The sleeping drunkard beside them snores loudly enough that both Craig and Clyde look over at him. His hand holding onto the handle of his tankard shifts to the side slightly then stops. He’s fast asleep again. They continue the conversation.

“You know,” Clyde says, “I think I heard something about the barbarians heading west.”

“I know that already,” Craig replies, “that’s all I’ve been hearing for the last month.”

“Because it’s true.” He leans in. “I’ve seen them maybe a week ago? Their trail at least.”

“No fucking way,” Craig says. He also leans in closer. “So they could be close by?”

Clyde takes another swig of ale. “I dunno, they move pretty fast. They could be anywhere by now.”

“Then how the hell am I ever gonna find these guys?”

There’s a moment of silence that falls over them before Clyde suddenly sits up straight and snaps his fingers. Craig leans back in his surprise.

“A clairvoyant.”

“Seriously?” Craig frowns. “They’re nothing but a bunch of scammers.”

“I’ve heard of a few legit ones.”

“How is it you of all people who wants me to go to a clairvoyant? Remember what happened the last time you went? You were scammed!”

“Hey, I’ve learned my lesson – don’t visit a fake. But I hear this one’s the real deal.” Clyde slides the piece of paper over to his own side of the table and taps his finger on it. “She can find them for you.”

“I call bullshit.”

“You can either keep running west ‘til you fall off the map or take a chance.”

As Clyde takes another swig from his tankard, Craig sees a familiar thin-framed man from the corner of his eye. He turns to look and recognizes the man he had hired to search for information. He’s laughing with the other patrons and drunk off his ass. The useless idiot. He can’t believe he wasted a silver on someone like him.

“Where can I find her?” Craig asks.

“A week’s travel to the west.” Clyde shrugs when he sees Craig become disheartened. “At least it’s in the direction you’re going.”

“A week is a long time, they could be anywhere by then.”

“Well, it’s only a few days’ travel if you take a wagon.”

Craig perks up again. “You’ll do that for me?”

“Why not? I’ll help you out.” He finishes the last of his drink. “Besides, I hear she’s pretty cute.”

“For a moment I thought you were helping me from the goodness of your heart.”

“I am! That’s what friends are for. She’s just a bonus. Anyway, isn’t that what I said I’m here to do?” Clyde rises from his seat. Craig looks in the direction that Clyde’s attention is toward – it’s the woman from before. She walks into the inn and he smiles. “Make money and meet honeys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was debating who I wanted to make the clairvoyant, but I think I know what I wanna do with that now lol.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES. FINISHED. I wanna get this story out because I want to write when Craig meets Tweek.
> 
> Just a little reminder that it IS adventure and slow burn though, so it's gonna go at a moderate pace. They'll meet in a few chapters!  
> &I have a lot of fun writing other characters hehe.

“That crackpot is still alive?”

“Last I heard he was still alive and still trying to become the mayor,” Craig replies.

“It’s never gonna happen.” Clyde laughs. “Garrison’s too crazy, even for _our_ village.”

“Right? I wonder when he’s gonna realize no one’s ever going to vote for him.”

“Probably never.”

Damn he misses this. It’s been a long five months since the last time they spoke and it reminds Craig just how much he really appreciates Clyde’s friendship. From getting into mischief as children to making even worse decisions as adults, Clyde is his go-to partner. His nature was a breath of fresh air to someone like Craig who liked things to be simple and predictable – _especially_ considering what home was. And home was a small mountain village with so little to offer that the people who lived there made their own fun for better or worse. It wasn’t until the day Craig packed up and left for the city that he found out what fun meant for his village was considered lowbrow and bizarre in mainstream society. Oh well.

Craig breathes in deep, picks up the scent of sweet grass, and looks around.

“Out west is strange.”

“It’s different than home,” Clyde says. “It’s nice.”

Craig thinks he understands what Clyde means. Home is east and even farther north. He’s use to longer winters and mild summers. Home was staring at the span of mountains that made up the horizon, distant peaks that seemed to pierce into the sky higher than birds can fly. But here the earth formed the landscape with gentle grassy hills rather than snowy mountain tops. Clusters of trees grow in far away distances that Craig can see in the horizon because the land was so flat.

Clyde says he has been even farther west. There’s large body of water that stops him unless he decides to travel by boat which is too damn expensive, even for the handfuls of coin he’s making every week, and he doesn’t want to fall off the edge of the world. Craig scoffs and says the world isn’t flat. Clyde asks why are maps made on _flat_ pieces of paper, then? Anyway, he doesn’t need to cross the sea because he can get to just as many cities to sell at by going around one of the many lakes that dot the map. Craig thinks that maybe all the water is why the air is so humid.

It’s hot. Craig takes off his cloak and folds it, placing it on his seat beneath the wagon’s canvas which provides him shade. He wipes sweat off from his forehead. It’s mid-afternoon and the sun is relentless, shining down on them from directly above without a single cloud to block its rays.

“It’s hot as hell.”

“Better than the ground still frosted over.”

“By now the frost is probably thawed back home, too.”

“No way, winter there is _never_ –”

Clyde immediately begins to sway and falls over, his side smacking against the wooden frame of his seat.

Oh shit.

Craig immediately jumps up from his seat, and scrambles over crates and kicks over packed trinkets until he reaches the front of the wagon where he can kneel beside Clyde.

“Hey buddy, are you okay?” Craig asks. He keeps his voice calm – now is not the time to panic, even if Clyde is too faint to even register the soothing tone of his voice. Clyde doesn’t respond, but his chest is moving up and down, a good enough sign. His lips are chapped. Craig brings out his waterskin and presses it against Clyde’s lips, but the water only dribbles down his cheek. “You’re such a pain in the ass to deal with.”

Craig looks around. Most of what is in his immediate surroundings are high grasses and stumps that would make it difficult to drive the oxen-pulled wagon through. He decides they need to stay on the worn path, so it’s lucky when he sees that the path ahead leads them under a cover of trees that can provide them more shade.

The trees still look a little far in the distance, and the oxen still have to pull for some time before they reach it, so he picks up Clyde and puts him in the back of the wagon underneath the canvas and takes out his waterskin again. It pours off Clyde’s cheek and drips onto the wood. Craig frowns and shakes his head. How did he live so long traveling alone?

Craig takes hold of the wagon. He manages to keep the oxen on the path and avoid veering over any hidden ledges; one wrong move could happen anywhere from how uneven the ground was. Definitely different than back home – as kids, he and Clyde would usually throw packed snow and frozen chunks of ground at each other for fun. They probably wouldn’t be able to grab any dirt here without it crumbling in their palms before they could throw it. He takes frequent glances back at Clyde, watching to see if he was still breathing from the rise and fall of his chest.

As the wagon draws through their destination he realizes just how deep the trees actually go. They’re practically in a forest and the path becomes harder to follow the deeper he ventures in. Craig has to jump off and push aside large fallen branches, and inspect the ground where the leaves and dirt appear trodden so he doesn’t stray and get lost.

It doesn’t do him much help though. Craig would have liked to believe he was doing pretty well to stay on the path until he had to suddenly stop the oxen from smacking into a tree.

Aw crap, Craig thinks. Maybe he should have kept his eyes looking ahead more often instead of on the ground.

He jumps down from his seat, calms down the animals, and looks around. He’s not totally lost, but Craig feels he’s almost at that point. Now that he looks at it, the path he was following was probably made some time ago by other travelers as a footpath, which would explain why it felt narrower than the original route he was on.

“This is okay,” Craig says aloud to himself. “I just need to find the original path.”

There’s still quite a bit of sunlight left in the day. The wagon is big enough for him to see even if he travels away from it. He just needs to trace his steps, find the path and steer back onto it. That’s all he needs to do.

He takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly, calms himself down. Craig was never one to lose it over a small hiccup in plans.

He takes one last peek at Clyde again. He’s still down and unmoving. For once during this whole mess he’s happy that Clyde is passed out. For all the bravado he carries when talking to women Craig knew the type of person Clyde truly was, and if he had suddenly woken up and realized Craig had gotten them lost he might have cried.

Time for him to get going.

Craig turns down the path and tries to trace his steps. It’s a good thing he likes to take in his surroundings, though here in the forest he only really remembers what he was staring at on the ground.

He remembers seeing that rotting log and that cluster of wildflowers. Their petals look like tiny dots scattered in a bed of green. Upcoming should be a flat rock with bird poop in the middle but when he doesn’t see it Craig has to go back to the cluster of wildflowers and turn the other way. There’s a second cluster of yellow flowers this time around, and later a patch of weird looking plants that look curly and a bit fuzzy.

Honestly, it’s beautiful, but Craig is annoyed at the forest. He doesn’t just want to kick a tree – he wants to kick all of them. It might take him an odd fifty plus years to accomplish his goal, and he’s weighing the pros and cons to the plan before he trips over a tree root and lands on his knees. Craig feels pain, and his mouth is forming the beginning of a curse word before he recognizes the area. It’s the original path.

No wonder he veered off from the route – he ended up following a stretch of a dirt where the one he should have taken was still covered by fallen leaves. Older wheel marks were hidden underneath.

Craig sighs in relief. It’s worth his scraped knees.

He stands up from the ground and brushes the dirt away from his pants, then immediately turns back the direction he came from. Craig is running and jumping over rocks and logs. He marked his path by cutting deep lines into the tree trunks so he wouldn’t get lost wandering in circles.

He jumps over a decaying log. He sees between the leaves the outline of the wagon. He almost takes a misstep into some mud but narrowly avoids it. The oxen are coming into view now. He pushes a few branches away from his face and spits out a leaf that got caught in his mouth. He just needs to pass these rows of –

Craig immediately crouches and takes cover behind the row of bushes instead of passing them. His breathing is labored from all the running but he tries to steady it and avoid making as much noise as he can. He takes out his dagger from his belt and takes a careful peek above the bushes.

Who the hell is that?

The man is doing nothing but walking around the wagon, his red cloak trailing across the leaf-laden ground. He doesn’t seem interested in stealing anything, so Craig just continues to watch with careful curiosity. Then the man pets an ox on the head with a dark hand, walks to the end of the wagon, and jumps inside.

Craig leaps out from the bushes.

He begins running until he reaches the back of the wagon. Then he sees the man pressing a hand to Clyde’s forehead, and Craig jumps inside to press the dagger to the man’s throat before he can even manage to be surprised.

“Who are you?” Craig demands.

The man raises his hands into the air as a show of surrender.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“ _Who are you?”_

“My name is Token,” he says, “and I noticed your wagon near my home. I was just going to pass by until I saw somebody laying down inside and I went to help.”

“Why do you want to help a random stranger?”

“I’m a healer,” Token says. He slowly clenches one hand into a fist until a soft white light glows from the inside. “Let me show you.”

He takes Craig’s silence as a sign to continue. Token opens his palm, and surprises Craig by looking at him from the corner of his eye instead of at Clyde like he expected. Token places his glowing hand onto Craig’s own – the closest hand, which turns to be the one holding the dagger to his throat – and he immediately feels a cooling sensation go throughout his body. Suddenly he doesn’t feel like burning up from the sun.

Craig lowers the dagger from Token’s throat.

“What did you do?”

“A simple cooling spell. It helps when you’re exposed to the sun for too long.”

Craig points to Clyde.

“Can you do that to him?”

“Afraid that’s not your friend’s case.” Token places his hand back onto his forehead. “He’s been poisoned.”

Craig’s eyes go wide.

“ _Poisoned?_ ”

“Look.” Token opens one of Clyde’s eyes and motions for Craig to come closer. “It’s not fatal, but the longer he’s in this state the longer it will take to wake him up.”

Craig kneels down to look. It’s like there is a swirling green haze clouding around Clyde’s eye – a storm cloud reflecting from the inside of his pupils. Token closes his eye.

“Do you know how he ended up like this?” Token asks.

“No,” Craig says. “Yesterday we were on the road all day. I met him by chance the night before and we went to the inn, had a drink. Other than that I – _oh._ "

Token looks at Craig. “‘ _Oh’_ what?”

“Maybe that girl – the girl he ditched me for. She must have poisoned him for his gold.”

“This is pretty advanced,” Token says, “he’s lucky she didn’t use something more permanent on him.”

“Permanent?”

“Death.”

“Oh.”

“No use standing around his body, I need to treat him immediately. We can head to my place, it isn’t far.”

“What about the wagon?” Craig asks. “I just can’t leave it. There’s valuables everywhere and the oxen are expensive too, they’re enchanted to be faster and stronger.”

“No one will steal your wagon. You've gone pretty far from the worn path so it should be safe for the night.” Token begins to lift Clyde’s body. “Now help me will you?”

He doesn’t want to leave such precious items unattended but then Craig looks down at Clyde. Idiot. But _his_ idiot best friend nonetheless.

He sheathes his dagger.

“If this thing goes missing, you owe us for everything.” He puts an arm under Clyde’s knees and another against his back. Craig picks him up, holding Clyde against his chest, and shuffles out the end of the wagon, turning around to watch as Token jumps out after him.

“Follow me,” Token says, turns his back to Craig, and walks deeper into the forest.

Clyde is heavier than he looks. Craig shifts Clyde in his arms, watching his friend’s head lolling with every uneven step he took. It’s a wonder how Token manages to weave so fast between the trees with a cape like that – even longer than Craig’s own cloak – trailing behind. The way he jumps from tree root to rock and back again is impressive, and if he wasn’t holding onto a poisoned idiot in his arms, he thinks he may be able to match Token’s footwork. Years of practice weaving through tight alleys and unfamiliar terrain does that to someone.

“We’re close.” When the sound of a lute begins to drift in the air Token stops. “Do you hear that? That’s my roommate.”

“You live out here with someone else?”

Token shrugs.

“He pays me rent.”

Making their way past the bramble bushes with wide, careful steps and down a small ledge a clearing comes into view. A small wooden hut, a bountiful patch of plants and vegetables on its side. A currently unused fire pit sits right outside near two tree stumps. On one of the stumps is a man with brown hair, humming a tune to the strumming of his lute. Atop his hat is a single white feather, and on the ground beside him are wooden crutches. He begins to sing.

 _Oh,_ _was_ s _he dull b-but a delight in b-be-b-be –_ he clears his throat – _a delight i-in bed_

_Not a talent for b-brains but a talent for he–ead_

_I g-gave her a lesson easy to f-f-follow_

_But_ _b-boy, was it a lot of information to sw-swallow_

Craig raises an eyebrow. He turns to look at Token, whose expression remains unperturbed as he continues forward. Guess it must be a usual thing.

“Hey Jimmy,” Token says.

Jimmy turns to his direction and smiles. “Did you hear my s-song?”

“We did.” Token motions toward Craig, and to Clyde in his arms. “I got guests for tonight.”

“W-wow you brought me an audience.” He places his lute on the unoccupied stump beside, and bends down for his crutches. He makes his way toward Craig. “If you like what you hear, I play every T-T-Tuesday night at the Winding Woods Inn.”

“Thanks, but I don’t have time right now to see a show.”

“W-why not s-stranger?”

“The name is Feldspar,” he replies, “and I’m on a mission to find the barbarians.”

“Why the barbarians?” Token says. He had walked past the two of them toward the cabin door but turns around, stopping short of entering inside when he overhears Craig. “That’s–”

“Practically suicide?” Craig sounds annoyed. “I know, I’ve been told this about a dozen times on my way here.”

“B-but why?” Jimmy asks.

“I’m magically bound by a wizard to steal from them and it got me traveling west.”

There. Short and to the point. Craig doesn’t want damn near everyone to know his personal business even though it’s also cathartic for him to say it.

“Well F-Feldspar, look like you’re in q-quite the predicament.”

“Clyde here” – Craig bounces the body in his arms – “is making me look for some psychic lady. Says she can find them.”

“Well you’re close,” Token says. He swings the door open. “But let’s get your friend fixed up first.”

Craig looks down. Clyde is starting to sputter and foam in the mouth.

“Oh _shit,”_ he says before running into the cabin.

 

It was a mixture of unrecognizable herbs, mushrooms, and something that looks close to a worm – it’s actually a root Token says when he sees Craig’s expression wrinkle in disgust, even though it’s wriggling in his fingertips – boiling over a small flame, until the water turns murky green and then extracted into a glass. Craig holds Clyde’s mouth open as Token pours the liquid in and forces him to swallow. Immediately the foaming in Clyde’s mouth stops.

“It’s neutralizing the poison inside his stomach,” Token assures, “then he’ll wake up in a few hours.”

They put Clyde in bed, on top of a faded quilt and a down-filled pillow under his head. And while Token gets to tidying the work area, wiping away spilled medicine and cleaning his miniature cauldron, Craig finally feels a real sense of calm wash over him and takes in the interior of the cabin.

Quaint. Almost boring. There’s a window that lets in the light from the rising sun, and another window on the opposite side that captures the remaining light when the sun sets. The bed Clyde occupies is against a corner in the main room of the cabin, and from the crack in the doorway Craig notices a second bed in a small room. A dining table with four chairs, a fireplace, but not much else. The furnishing was incredibly modest, and except for the plants hanging from the ceiling in little clay pots, the most interesting thing was the mess Token was cleaning.

As Clyde is left to recover on the small bed inside the cabin, Token and Craig move to sit outside with Jimmy.

The sun is setting. They start a fire in the pit, cook some wild game Token caught when there was more daylight in the sky, and listen to Jimmy play a few songs on his lute before tiring of it and reaching for more food.

“W-would you like some more, Feldspar?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” Craig replies.

He wriggles his toes, enjoying the feeling of having his boots off. It’s been a long day, and the hottest one yet on the trip to the next town. Since Token used the cooling spell on him Craig doesn’t feel as exhausted as he usually does tonight.

They’re pretty alright guys, Craig thinks. If they came from the same village as he did they’d probably all be childhood friends. Jimmy seemed weird enough that if Craig found out that he _did_ come from the same village he wouldn’t be surprised, and Token had the simple nature he appreciated in Clyde except with more smarts about him. Only if they met under better circumstances, he feels a little bad about putting the dagger to Token’s throat now.

“So tell me again, Feldspar,” Token says between bites of his food, “why is your friend convinced that this woman can find the barbarians for you?”

“Psychic. Also she’s cute or something.”

“T-two birds, one s-stone.”

Craig shrugs. “I just want my life back.”

Craig bundles his cloak into a ball and uses it as a pillow as he lies down on the grass, his arms folded across his stomach, watching as the embers from the fire disappear into the air.

“That’s all?” Token asks.

“Yeah.” He pauses. “And maybe a little something to make it easier.”

“Uh oh, what else did the wizard offer you?”

“Gold. Lots of it.” Craig suddenly takes a glance at at Token and Jimmy, two complete strangers helping him and Clyde. He is suddenly conscious about the weight of the sack on his belt, thinks about how frugal he needs to be, but a guilty feeling creeps into his conscience. He sighs. “I don’t have much but thanks for everything you’ve done. Let me repay y–”

Token holds out a hand to stop him. He shakes his head.

“I offered to help you.”

“ _But_ –”

Token shakes his head again.

“I’ve got more than enough to live.”

Craig frowns. “You live in a shack in the woods.”

“It’s not a shack, it’s a _cabin,_ ” Token says as a correction, sounding a little offended. But he recovers quickly from the slight. “And I chose to live like this.”

“It’s true,” Jimmy says. “He c-comes from a well-off family.”

“So let me reiterate – you chose to live like this? Even though you’re rich?”

“I studied medicine. After I finished that I became interested in the healing arts.” Token sits up straighter on his tree stump. “I decided to connect the two, and I’ve been out here for two years now learning about the magical healing properties of plants.”

“His p-parents built him the c-cabin.”

“Huh,” Craig says. “The more you know.”

“So don’t worry about payment. I like what I do,” Token reassures. “Not everything is about gold.”

“Easy for you to say, coming from a rich family.” Craig thinks about his childhood. He wasn’t starved by any means, but when the fair happened or a traveling merchant came through Craig couldn’t afford to spend frivolously on trinkets or sweets – he’d have to take some when no one was paying attention to him. He’s been in the thieving game for a long time.

Token just shrugs.

“You’ll find something or someone one day, and it’ll change your mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving this a shot!


End file.
